


From 221B With Love

by distractedgenius



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Sherlock (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 06:24:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4009240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distractedgenius/pseuds/distractedgenius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(This was originally posted on Fanfiction.net)</p>
            </blockquote>





	From 221B With Love

The streets of London were busy, as always. They buzzed with a kinetic energy, lacking in any urgency, but always moving. There was rarely a sense of danger in these streets. Unless you knew the right people, who could paint the streets in a different light. The seemingly safe warm lights and tall cold skyscrapers could become as thrilling and dangerous as a chase scene in a movie.

There is a small, musty, yet charming apartment in London where someone who does this lives. And it was a rare privilege to be able to walk the city with him, considering he wasn't particularly fond of people, just a certain few.

There is another man, working underground, on top of buildings, behind closed doors, and across the world, who can have the same effect on people.

These two men share similarities. They're exceedingly intelligent, more than a little unbalanced, and they always know exactly the right move to make next when pertaining to their specialties. But perhaps most important is that they both have companions.

What these two men don't know is their connection, and it is much closer than they would have thought.  
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"John, did you move my dropper?" Sherlock rummaged around the small kitchen, looking underneath old newspapers with highlighted words and random scribblings for memos at St. Bart's morgue.

"No." John answered from the living room, looking through a new paper and trying not to let the bemusement he felt seep into his voice.

Sherlock poked his head into the living room "What, what's wrong?" Sherlock asked defensively.

"Oh, nothing. Just..." John stopped. Maybe it wouldn't be a good idea to bring attention to the lack of clients right now. Sherlock was in an unusually good temperament for not having had a case in about a week. John didn't want to push his luck. Some people had heroin, Sherlock had murders. Well, probably heroin too, but John didn't know for sure.

"What were you saying?" Sherlock insisted.

"You're obviously trying to think about how you don't have a case on at the moment." John tensed and waited for Sherlock's reaction.

"Yes I do, I told you already, Mycroft dropped by a couple of hours ago and left me some things for something new, weren't you there?"

"No I was running out to get milk, don't you-"

"Not my fault you weren't here. We have to go to the art gallery in about an hour, which means we'd better leave soon. I suggest you put on your best manners. Apparently it's something to do with Her Majesty." Sherlock turned on his heel and went back into the kitchen.

"Sarcasm, but nothing else." John muttered to himself, and put down the paper  
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It was just starting to rain when Sherlock hailed a cab outside 221B. He opened the door for John and they both climbed in. John peered into the driver's seat to make sure their cabbie didn't look too familiar, and when he didn't, sat back in his seat. They'd had quite a lot of trouble with cabbies over the months they'd been solving crimes together. Their first case, in fact, involved a cabbie. It was easily one of the most important days of John Watson's life, and they both knew that.

As Sherlock told the driver where to go, John wondered what Mycroft was going to ask of them this time. Usually it was small things, like background on this vaguely suspicious person, and even then, it was usually left to John when Sherlock had something else to do. But something about this case must have triggered Sherlock's curiosity, or else they wouldn't be here.

The cab sped up and down the roads that these two had run over and over. Over there, a place they had waited for a crime boss to walk around the corner. Over there, the Chinese restaurant where the owner refused to believe they weren't a couple.

About twenty minutes later, the two of them arrived at the art gallery.

"I'm sure you're wondering why we're here, Dr. Watson." Sherlock said, as they walked towards the entrance.

"I was hoping you'd explain, unless I was supposed to deduce it myself." John muttered, although secretly, he too was more than excited to have something to do, just as Sherlock was.

"Apparently, Mycroft owes the head of M16 some sort of favor. Somehow, we're now part of the bargain. He won't give me enough information to let slip why." Sherlock said grimly. Watson knew relationships within the Holmes family were tense, if his first meeting with Mycroft was any sort of indication. Selfish rivalry and one-upping seemed to be the only way Sherlock and Mycroft communicated.

Sherlock and John entered the gallery, and walked briskly to the painting where they were supposed to meet their contact. Sherlock had explained on the drive over that Mycroft would more than likely not be the one to whom they would be meeting with. Something about discretion, but John knew it simply because they disliked each other.

The painting was of a boat being pulled by another boat. John wasn't much of an art person, and Sherlock seemed...nervous. Tapping his foot, pacing slightly. He seemed more anxious than usual.

Just as Sherlock had sat down once again next to John, what looked to be a dark haired, bespectacled, skinny boy no older than 25 came and sat down next to them. Sherlock's eyes went wide for a second, but no more. John was certain it had happened, but it ended quickly enough so the stranger didn't notice.

"Always makes me feel a little melancholy." The boy started, with the air of a well rehearsed actor. He stared only at the painting, straight ahead the entire time. "Grand old warship being hauled away ignominiously for scrap. The inevitability of time, don't you think?" He looked over at Sherlock, who was also staring blankly ahead. John was the only one watching the exchange curiously.

"What do you see?" the boy finished simply.

"I understand I am only to address you as Q now." Sherlock said with a smirk.

"I see Mycroft filled you in. It's not like you don't already know it." Q shrugged.

"Hold on a moment, what's going on?" John asked, starting to draw some conclusions.

"John, this is my younger brother. I suppose he's working for MI6 now. You're only to address him by Q." Sherlock explained.

"You have a younger brother?" John said incredulously.

"Long story." Q said reassuringly.

John could see the resemblance now. "Okay then." He said faintly. "What does Q stand for anyway? Anything?" John asked.

"Quartermaster." Q said with a small smile. He got up without another word, and Sherlock and John followed  
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"How's mummy?" Q asked with a wry smile as the three walked out of the art museum, to wherever he might be taking them.

"Fine I suppose. We haven't talked much." Sherlock said casually.

"I might have known it would be something like that." John saw Q roll his eyes. The more time John spent around Q, the more he liked him. It was weird to see a Holmes who didn't seem overly concerned with a power play, or trying to be the smartest man in the room. Although John was pretty sure he didn't know what a quartermaster was.

"Who's your friend?" Q asked. He'd noticed John prior to leaving the gallery, but hadn't said anything. Probably thought he might have been a random observer.

"This is Dr. John Watson. He assists me with my work." Sherlock said.

"Pleasure to meet you. I'll shake your hand later. You're a doctor?"

"Army doctor." John said.

"Useful occupation. I can see why you like him." Q weaved quickly though the crowds, leading them down through what looked to be a set of stairs leading to a tube station.

"I'll take that as a compliment." John said, mostly to himself, voice echoing in the empty tunnel.

It wasn't a tube station. There was only a door, and a scanner. Q took the MI6 card from his pocket and swiped it in front of the scanner, and the door swung open of it's own accord.

John hadn't been sure what to expect, but the light still blinded him. Behind the door were men and women sitting in front of laptops, testing weaponry, experimenting with chemicals... it was a lot to take in. The glare of all the screens and the fluorescent lighting made John want to cover his eyes.

"Welcome to the quartermaster division of MI6." Q didn't stop, but led them on to his corner of space. It was a bit bigger than everybody else's. He immediately keyed in the password on his laptop and did away with some quick coding.

"Can I just assume that your entire family is made up of genuises?" John looked on in amazement as Q's fingers flew across the keys.

"Yes." Sherlock answered before the last syllable of John's sentence made it out.

"Okay, it seems as though I'm going to brief you two. Mycroft has personalized this whole thing I see." Q said, scrolling through what looked to be an e-mail from Mycroft.

"Is he pushing for a family reunion this year?" Sherlock muttered bitterly.

"He tries." Q replied.

Sherlock said nothing.

But John noticed. While Sherlock and Mycroft were at obvious odds with each other, Sherlock seemed to have a soft spot for Q. It was actually kind of...sweet. Well, for Sherlock anyway.

"This way, if you please?" Q took them to one of the many doorways lining the room, and scanned his card again. The room was small, and dominated largely by a desk with a grumpy looking, short, older woman behind it.

"Ah, I see you've brought in Holmes and Watson." She said, standing up.

"Sherlock, John, this is M, my employer and the head of MI6."  
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"Have a seat." M gestured to the three chairs in front of the desk. John was vaguely reminded of being sent to the principal's office in primary school. This would be interesting.

"Mr. Holmes. I've been working with your brother for years." She extended a hand over the desk, and Sherlock took it.  
John expected some sort of witty retort, but Sherlock said nothing.

"And you're John Watson, I presume. Mycroft said you might be here. Thank you for your service." To John's surprise, M actually smiled as she shook his hand. He smiled in return.

"And Q, keep up the good work. God knows where 007 would be without you." M addressed him.

"Thank you, m'amm." Q sneaked a glance at his older brother, just for a second, and sat down next to John.

"Now, boys, are you familiar with the name Jim Moriarty?" M pulled a file from her desk, a red CLASSIFIED stamped across it's front.

John felt his stomach drop. Sherlock tensed in his chair.

"I might have known." He muttered.

"So yes?" M looked between the detective and the army doctor. Q stared on in amusement.

"Yes." John said, cutting a glance to Sherlock. He could already tell that the gears in his head were spinning faster than any of them could fathom. Well, everyone except maybe Q.

"Well, he was spotted with someone we're familiar with. Raoul Silva. From what we've gathered, they're both emotionally unstable, unfathomably evil, and trying to bring down MI6. Need I say more?" M said, eying Sherlock more than a little curiously.

"No, that just about covers it." Sherlock said primly. "Where are they located?"

"Still somewhere in England. I'm trusting you boys with this. Mycroft said you were the best. And if he's wrong, he owes me a date." M said, wry smile not quite clear on her face.

"Well, you can rest assured you won't be subjected to that sort of horror." Sherlock got up and shook M's hand again.

M looked at Sherlock, not quite sure what to think. M had already met two of the Holmes brothers, but something about this one was different. But she could think of nothing worse than an evening with Mycroft Holmes, and these two seemed to be the only people who had come away from a meeting with Moriarty alive.

"Q, take them to 007's flat. They need to get acquainted with the last member of their team."

"Yes, m'amm."  
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Q led the two men out of M's miniscule office back into the frenzy of the quartermaster space. He quickly checked his inbox to make sure 007 knew they were coming. Nothing was more unprofessional than working with a one-off team like this one and having Bond show up at the door half dressed and ushering out whomever had just been messing up Q's day. Bond's constant womanizing was not easy to live with.

"Alright, it seems we'll be meeting 007 at his home." Q rubbed at his eyes, the bright glare of the screens a little brighter than usual. He hadn't seen Sherlock in at least two years. Not since they thought Mummy was going to be ill again. It made everything around him seem even frantic, a little more dangerous, and a lot more nervewracking to say just the right thing at the right time.

Unlike his other two brothers, Q did not care about being the smartest in the room, even though most of the time he still was. He cared about the world the way Sherlock did, but on a grander scale. Sherlock liked small crimes, because it was those that turned about to be the most complicated and thrilling to him. Q liked preventing national or international destruction in every sense of the word. The grand sweeping scale of half the stuff he'd seen at MI6, and how must of it could be solved with a simple line of code, was reassuring to him. No matter how tragic or dangerous the disaster, Q could call it off, or part of the mission that did. That meant something to him.

They walked back up through the dark tunnel, nobody seeming to notice anything out of the ordinary. The busy streets were nothing compared to MI6.

"So how did you come into acquaintance with my brother, Dr. Watson?" Q weaved through the crowds of people.

"Em, old military friend. I needed a flatmate. And I seem to be the only one who can stand him." John added in a mutter. Q smiled knowingly.

"Sounds about right." He nodded.

They walked briskly up the sidewalk, turned a corner, and found a brick apartment building. Not as homely as 221B, but not the glass and steel skyscrapers one usually sees around London.

Q pressed the buzzer. "007? The rest of the team is here. I hope you're alone" Q crossed his finger.

"Jesus, Q, who do you think I am?" The buzzer crackled back, the voice deep and grazelly.

"Double-oh-bloody-seven, now let us in." Q sighed.

There was a small laugh and then the door opened.

As they went up the small flight of stairs, John said "I think I might know this guy."

"What?" Sherlock and Q both turned around at the same time, the same quizzical look on their faces.

"You know, I didn't really think you two were related at first, but now I see it." John repressed a laugh.

Q and Sherlock met eyes, then turned away as 007's door opened.

"Watson?"  
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"Bond?" Watson saw the man in the doorway, hardly believing what he was seeing.

"You're Mycroft's special team, then?"

"Not really. I mean, sort of." John looked back at Sherlock, calmly taking in the sight of the thankfully fully clothed and very much alone James Bond.

"007." Sherlock stuck out his hand and shook Bond's.

"Sherlock Holmes?"

"Yes. And I suppose you've met my brother, judging from the looks of things."  
"Do all the Holmes's work for the government?" He said with a smirk.

"Just about." Q said, giving Bond a quick wave and going into his apartment.

"Well, best find out what this mess is all about." Said John, following Q.

"M has sent me all the information she deemed worthy. If you'll have a seat, please." Q had already set up his laptop and started clicking through message and secrets and all manner of secrets beyond the imagination.

"Apparently this," he said, turning the screen towards the three men squished on a couch, "is Jim Moriarty. Are we correct in saying so?"

"Yes." Sherlock answered instantly.

"Good. And this we know to be Raoul Silva." Q turned the screen to show a frankly frightening picture of a frankly frightening, vaguely androgynous, man. Definitely someone Moriarty would draw to him.

"We've received recent anonymous tips from a source here in London that these two have been seen in private together. Our source says she's familiar with both their track records, and knows this can't be a good thing. M got into contact with Mycroft, as he also seems to be closely related to Moriarty. He gave us all info he could, and recommended you two for the case. That's the general idea here. I'm still downloading the details." Q explained. "Is there anything you can tell us about Moriarty that we should know now?"

"He's got people everywhere. For all we know he could be watching us now. I suggest you take more precautions 007." Sherlock nodded to the blinds.

"Jim Moriarty is the only person I've ever met who truly frightens me. There is something completely and utterly unhinged about him." John added quietly. He remembered the night at the swimming pool, the heavy weight of the explosives. The worst nightmare he had ever had.

"Thank you." Q said quietly, reassuringly, looking John in the eyes. Q knew what had happened. It was in the records. Mycroft had given a lot of information about his brother's involvement with Moriarty. But he couldn't say anything. Unlike his brother, Q tried hard to make people feel comfortable around him. Telling your colleague in the works that you know the story of how they were almost blown to bits by an actual insane person is probably not the best way to start any sort of relationship.

"Well, why?" 007 said.

"Because they think it's fun. Moriarty doesn't do things for money of fame, he does what does to get under people's skin and watch them burn." Sherlock rattled it off like he had learned this from a textbook and not experience.

"That's what I was getting to." Q didn't let Sherlock know he was starting to get on his nerves. Years of living in the same house had trained him very well for this moment.

"Sounds like Silva's long lost twin." Bond remarked dryly.

There was a small ding from Q's laptop. His eyes widened as he read.

"Oh, this is bad." He said, biting his lip.

"What?" Bond was on his feet at a moment's notice. Sherlock was already reading over Q's shoulder.

"It's a video message. Hold on a moment." Q quickly pulled up the video and hit play.  
Immediately, Jim Moriarty's face illuminated the screen.

"Hello boys. Look where I am." He said calmly, the smile of a cat who has just eaten a canary playing across his face. The camera zoomed out and the familiar walls and windows of 221B came into focus. John gasped "They're in our flat."

"I hope you won't mind that we'll be staying here for a little while. You were nice enough to leave the doors unlocked at least." He sat back in his chair. Sherlock was annoyed to notice it was his favorite chair, the one he used when he was watching bad telly with John or needed to think and let the nicotine patches seep into his skin. And the worst part is that Moriarty probably knows this.

"Dear, I picked the locks for you. You know Sherlock is smarter than that." The camera flipped around to reveal a face that had graced the screen only moments before, except that picture wasn't moving and breathing like this one was.

"Hi James. You have good taste in friends."  
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"Dear God." John felt like he couldn't breathe. To see Moriarty and this Silva person making themselves right at him in 221B was surreal, and a terrible terrible nightmare he wanted nothing more than to wake up from.

"We'll be sending you more letters, dears, although I'm afraid they'll have to be in print, for the discretion of our house guests." Silva purred from behind the camera. Moriarty was picking through the notes and newspapers on Sherlock's desk.

Sherlock sat quietly, hands clasped in his lap, eyes wide. Q and 007 looked on, confused. They were not used to their criminals making themselves so...public. There was always lots of anonymous faces, and red herrings and all manner of secrets. These two men were obviously quite proud of their takeover of 221B.

"We eagerly wait your reply, boys." Moriarty looked up and gave a devilish grin.

"From 221B with love!" He sang mockingly and the camera shut off without any further notice.

"Tell M we've got a location on our targets. I'm going to need some back-up for this one." 007 was already moving, grabbing a coat and a small gun.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." Sherlock said quickly.

James stopped and stared at Sherlock, one eyebrow quirked. "And why not?"

"Moriarty is rather fond of his league of snipers. Well, we think they're a league. I know their leader to be someone called Sebastian Moran. Did a little research. Homeless network. MI6 should notes." Sherlock said wryly, waiting for a comment from either Q or 007, or maybe John, but he kept going.

"If you get within spitting distance of the place I'd say you have a pretty good chance of dying. And I mean actual death, of the kind you can't be resurrected from." Sherlock finished.

"Now, boys." Q said mockingly, with an eye roll.

"I don't know if this is going to work out." Bond said grumpily.

"Oh, grow up 007." Q sighed.

"Look." John started, getting up from the couch. "Mycroft may be a pain in the arse, but he's usually right about things." Sherlock and Q both looked at John, as if to say "are you insane?"

"It's probably best if we just stay here for a little while and figure out what to do from here. We obviously can't go back to 221B." Watson said, a little regretfully. Baker Street hadn't been his home for long, but it had felt more like home than anywhere he had ever lived before.

"John's right." Q said, sitting back down. John followed. And with a nod at each other, Sherlock and James did the same, still eying each other searchingly.

"So we can't go back to Baker Street, staying here any longer might not be the safest thing, especially if Silva and Moriarty can track the computer signal from me. I'll find somewhere close where we can meet easily." Q was already at it, the click of the keys louder than tensity that practically cracked within the room.

Q had always secretly wondered what would happen when two of the most stubborn, intelligent, and utterly frustrating men he had ever known were put in a room together. This result was close to what he had imagined.

That being said, Q still had a certain admiration for them both.

"I know a place we can go for a bit. Sort things out. I also have a few things waiting for me over there." Sherlock said vaguely.

"Lead the way." Q said.

"This is a morgue." 007 looked around in bemused confusion.

"Yes, you're point being?" Sherlock snapped.

"Do you normally work here?" James asked.

"My line of work brings me here often."

"Which is what exactly?"

"Consulting detective."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It means when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me." Sherlock said in a bored tone of voice. It was a line he'd told people many times. He wished just for once that somebody could put two and two together and find out exactly what consulting detective even meant. It wasn't that hard.

James merely nodded. He looked around at the sterile surfaces. Sherlock had occupied himself with the microscope, and Q and John were talking quietly.

"Watson. I haven't seen you in a good fifteen years." He remarked quietly.

"Did Mycroft know we had met?" Watson asked Q.

"Probably. He knows more than he lets on." Q had opened the laptop yet again. It was like a security blanket.

"Either way, it's good to see you again. Although it's beyond me how you ended up with him." Bond gestured to Sherlock, who didn't seem to be listening.

"I don't really know myself." Watson didn't mean for it to sound as apologetic as it did.

"Still, must be exciting though. Have to find some way to stay alive." He leaned on the counter and rubbed his eyes.  
"I suppose."

And at that moment, Molly Hooper timidly walked in through the swinging doors, already taking off her plastic gloves when she saw the group in her lab.

"Sherlock?" She asked quietly and quizzically.

"Molly. This is 007 and Q, you're only the address them as such. We'll be here a while." Sherlock explained quickly, pointing at them as he said their names.

"Okay." She said confusedly. Her eyes landed on Q. He looked up nervously. She looked back down quickly. His eyes returned to the screen, reflected in his glasses. "Is there anything you need?" She asked.

"Coffee." Sherlock said absentmindedly, trying to center the microscope lens.

"Tea for me, thanks." John said with a small smile. He often felt sorry for Molly. Kind, sweet, Molly, who never gave up on Sherlock, although it was clear it was never going to happen.

"I don't suppose you have any booze?" Bond said tiredly.

"I doubt it." Molly almost laughed.

"I'll help." Q closed his laptop and walked towards Molly.

"Oh. Um. Thanks?" Molly blushed and fumbled with her key card.

"Jesus." 007 watched, arms crossed as they left the room together.

"This could be interesting."  
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"Sherlock, what are you even doing?" John said, exhausted.

"The same thing I was working on at Baker Street. I found two footprints just inside the door this morning. Figured they might be worth another look." Sherlock was working as rapidly as possible.

"Does he normally do this?" James asked.

"He practically lives here." John said quietly.

"Which means you do too then."

"No. I have a life. I'm only here when it's...really important."

"Which is most of the time."

"You'd be surprised." John laughed.

"No, I've heard rumors. The illustrious Sherlock Holmes. Didn't put two and two together because Mycroft rarely intercedes, but I got pulled out of a mission for this." 007 promptly stopped talking. Most of this stuff was classified. It was odd to him seeing Watson again, because they had had no contact for the last fifteen years or so. A lot had changed since then.

"How on Earth did you end up at MI6?" John had barely been able to believe it.

"How on Earth did you end up with psychopath?" James smirked.

"He's not a psychopath, he's a high functioning sociopath." John and Sherlock answered at the same time.

James actually did laugh then.

"So I'm assuming I'm never going to hear the story of James Bond's great transition from military to MI6 because it's classified."

"That's accurate." James nodded.

It was at that moment that Q and Molly came through the doors.

"That should do it." John said quickly, helping them with all the drinks and whatnot.

"Got it." Sherlock stepped back from the table, his work and notes and chemicals spread out all over.

"And?" John said, taking a sip of tea.

"It's a 5'11 man, well-built, light steps. Sebastian Moran."  
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"Sherlock, why do you never tell me these things?" John said, Sherlock's words still reverberating through the lab.

"John, we've been over this." Sherlock said, growing agitated. "He must've come when I was out helping Ms. Hudson's cousin with the redhead who wouldn't leave her house."

"The point is-" Bond started.

"We have errands to run." Sherlock finished.  
"Like what?"

"Homeless network. I need some eyes." Sherlock said grabbing his scarf and coat. "I was waiting to find an accurate description of Sebastian Moran so I could keep an eye out for him. It seems now would be opportune, especially considering he could be aiming at any one of us."

They followed him out the doors, passing Molly in the hall, who gave a small wave to Q, who returned the gesture.

Once they were out of the building, Sherlock said "007, stay eight steps behind me with Watson, Q, up here."

"Why?" said James quickly.

"Less chance of being spotted. I'm sure they would expect John and I together."

"You've been busy little brother." Sherlock said.

"Well, not much else to do when you don't feel like joining Anonymous." Q was already uncomfortable.

"Yes, I heard they were knocking down your door to do some vigilante work. Wouldn't hurt you know."

"What?"

"Getting out of MI6."

"You mean getting out from under Mycroft."

"That too."

"He's not as bad as you want him to be." Q reasoned.

"No, he's even worse than I ever thought."

"What's he done to you in the last 10 years?"

"Taken my clients and condescended to me at every opportunity, which has become increasingly more frequent, as it seems everyone in Her Majesty's secret service is concerned with the adventures of Sherlock Holmes via Dr. Watson's blog." Sherlock sneered.

"He is a good writer." Q said quietly.

"You too?"

"Believe it or not, I do care about you." Q looked at Sherlock.

Sherlock said nothing. It was easier than saying that he did too.

"Has he ever been evaluated by a psychiatrist? They'd have a field day with him." Bond remarked.

"They probably have. I get e-mails from doctors all over the world who want to be the first to analyze Sherlock Holmes."

"He's something."

"Yup." Watson realized at that point that despite being comrades early in their careers, he and Bond really didn't have much to say to each other, due that they'd been briefed on the details already.

"You're name has actually come up around MI6 quite a bit. Your blog gets a lot of traffic from us. Especially when word got out that he and Mycroft were related. I see it more with Q than him though."

"I had no idea how many Holmse's were involved with the Country's well-being." John chuckled.

There was an awkward silence.

"You and him aren't like..." Bond asked nervously.

"No. No no no no no no. No." Watson still hated being asked that question. What he felt for Sherlock was not love like he'd felt for a girlfriend. It was somewhere between brother and best friend. The two did not often intersect, especially if the Holmes' were any indication.

About ten minutes later, Sherlock led them to a deserted lot between a Chinese restaurant and a dry cleaners. There was a small huddle of people, and the moment they saw Sherlock, they all perked up.

Sherlock motioned for the others to stay back and walked up to the group of people, the firelight from their small camp turning everything to silhouettes.

"So he uses homeless people to keep an eye on things?" 007 asked John.

"Yeah. They work for the highest bidder usually, but loyalty to Sherlock Holmes can land you a job, or a ticket to a long lost relative. Both have happened."

"He knows to play cards then." James smirked.

"He is however terrible at Cluedo." Q smiled, as Sherlock, having struck a deal, approached them.

"I heard that." Sherlock said, but there was no menace behind it  
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"I'll arrange lodgings." Q pulled out his laptop.

The group had stopped in a small dark cafe', nearly deserted, and blessedly quiet. Darkness had covered London by that point, and the whole business was starting to get a little tiresome.

"Why would two on the world's most notorious villains take over your flat?" 007 asked bluntly, sitting down across from John.

"As much info as I try to store at all times, 221B has more of the obscure materials I need to keep up with cases. It could also be a personally violating move, as all the research I've done on Silva appears that he's likes to, to coin a phrase, 'get up in people's space'. It's an intimidation technique. They also want to cripple my progress. I'd be expecting some sort of major crime any day now." Sherlock was in deduction mode. He was talking fast, and just on the edge of not making sense.

"Accurate." Q said from the corner.

"The network is working on keeping an eye on things, infiltrating the crime circles, and so forth. We'll know within the hour if anything happens that would constitute as even the slightest bit criminal."

"You're good." James said. "But my question is if you already know all about crime circles, why don't you stop them?"

"Because then I will have a name. I prefer anonymity as often as possible." Sherlock checked his phone, but to no avail.

"For preferring anonymity, you've got quite a blog following."

"That's John's area." Sherlock gestured towards John, who was distracted by something out on the street.

"John?" James looked over curiously.

"There's a sniper on top of that building. He's aiming for us." John whispered.  
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"Vatican cameos!" Sherlock shouted. The second they had ducked down the window shattered and there was a bullet lodged in the wall just where Sherlock had been standing moments before.

"Everybody out!" That's when John realized there wasn't anybody else. Everyone in the shop had cleared out moments before the attack.

"Oh, stupid, stupid, stupid." Sherlock muttered to himself.

"What?" Watson hated this game, where it was a race to figure out what was going on. He always lost.

"This was a trap, we walked straight into it. They've been waiting for us the entire time." James finished.

"Bloody smart alecks." Q sighed. He seemed to do that a lot, John noticed.

"Look, we should just leave befor-" John started and was interrupted by the sound of shoes on glass.

"Did you miss me James?" Said the same greasy voice that John had heard distorted through a computer speaker maybe only an hour before. Raoul Silva was standing over them, and there was nothing he could do.

"Well I see you fell for it. Not very smart of you and your new friends." He tsked as he walked around, the crunching glass making the scene even more eerie. "I see you brought your pet too," he gestured to Q "You make a good team. As do these two. Perhaps it was meant to be. A double team." Silva was purring.

"I've met you once, what do you want with me?" James groaned. "You're annoying the bloody daylights out of me."

"Every person finds their perfect match. It may not be true love, or a best friend. Sometimes is a best enemy. I feel inexplicably drawn to you James. And I think you feel the same way."

"You and Moriarty make a perfect couple." John quipped  
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I just want to briefly say thank you so much for all the sweet messages and words this story has gotten. I had no idea that this story would attract this much attention, and it means a lot to me, so thank you guys :) Without further ado, here is chapter 13. Again, thank you so much!

"I've got three Russian assassins out back with your name on them. I suggest you follow me, or I'll be paying my friends more than I hope for. Assassins these days, so expensive. And really, when you could do it yourself for free. Well, when there's time." Silva sauntered slowly towards the back door. He looked back, and beckoned for them. The four men got up and followed reluctantly.

True to his word, there were three Russian assassins lined up in single file. Sherlock could see the outline of their weapons through their clothes. This was definitely one of the more dangerous situations he'd found himself in.

"It's not that far away, you won't have to put up with them for too long." Silva said as everyone but Q had a gun put to their back. Sherlock could practically feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He'd learned not too long ago that this feeling could never be replicated with drugs. He went over all the lethal pressure points in the body. If all else failed, aim for the knees, throat, eyes, or nose.

They were led along a small alley way that smelled of rust and gunpowder. The walls threatened seemed to threaten to close in on them.

"Raoul?" Sherlock asked calmly. He felt the gun press harder into his back, but no telltale click of the gun loading, or flip of the safety.

"Yes, my dear?"

"Why is there no gun against Q's back?"

"Well, here's the thing, Mr. Holmes, you're younger brother happens to be one of the foremost computer geniuses in the world. Killing him, if the urge should so strike me, would be most counter productive."

Sherlock said nothing more.

Finally, they were taken up a small rickety staircase into the back of what looked like a run down apartment. The gun was gone from Sherlock's back. He did a quick look to make sure everyone was okay, and then immediately turned to face their captor.

"You boys will be staying here until further arrangements can be made. Or until our demands are met."

"What are your demands?" 007 asked.

"Oh, it's nothing from you all. However, you were the only ones who were set on the case, even though you didn't really know what the case was. You had to be stopped in order for us to do our business. Nothing personal." Silva shrugged. "I suppose we can tell you now. We're planning to assassinate a certain M who employs two thirds of the Holmes Brothers. She has something that we need, and we can only pry it from her dead hands." And he snapped the door shut and left them alone.  
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Happy Valentines Day! I decided to give you guys a little bit of romance on this day in which there will undoubtedly be lots of fluff for you to enjoy. Thank you so much for reading this and I hope you have a lovely Valentines Day :)

"Oh, dear God." Mycroft groaned and put his head in his hands. His phone showed a picture of the very room in which his brother, Watson, and two of MI6's best had just exploded. He almost ALMOST wished they had stayed put. It would be easier to get them into hiding if he knew where they were. Now there were four men running around London, only two of whom could be considered mentally stable. He imagined Q and Watson were getting on rather well. And that Sherlock and 007 were clashing horribly.

There was a knock on the door.

"Yes?" Mycroft said tiredly as the door opened a crack to show his secretary.

"Sir, M is here from MI6, it's urgent."

"Yes, I know, let her in." He immediately straightened in his desk chair. Looks like his wish might finally be granted after all.

"What the hell is this?" M marched in with no pretense, phone in hand, the very same picture on Mycroft's phone illuminated even brighter on her better screen.

"You know very well what it is, I assume." Mycroft tried desperately not to look and sound as tired and bored and worried as he was. That exhaustion he often felt when Sherlock was on to something, an exhaustion that was really composed of envy and worry, was bone deep and usually sunk in fast.

"I should be getting a hold on them at any moment. They weren't supposed to be in danger this early, this was only supposed to a briefing." She spoke quickly, quietly, and didn't look him in the eye.

"Well I should hope so, because I don't know what to do." Mycroft muttered annoyed. Of course this would happen when all he wanted to do was keep his brother out of trouble. Since the business with Irene Adler, Sherlock had not spoken of her once, but Mycroft knew for a fact that Sherlock's collection of melancholy violin compositions was steadily growing larger. It was nice that he kept up an effort to make it look like he still thought she was dead, but Mycroft knew what had happened by now. The terrorists even had it on tape. The thought of his brother in love was so foreign that he did not wish to dwell on it.

There was a beep from M's mobile.

"Oh thank God. Q's got a location for us, we're back on contact."

"So you came over to my office for no reason?" Mycroft thought the whole thing was rather strange, especially considering that he knew M had more power to trace, track, and find people than he did, which didn't make much sense.

"No, I just want to know what this picture means? Were they held hostage? What? Do you know? Nobody can tell me, this place doesn't match anywhere we have in our records." M was obviously frustrated, possibly bordering on the level of Mycroft.

"Why don't you just ask Q?" Mycroft tried to keep a calm demeanor.

"I've tried, I'm fairly sure he's a bit busy exploding small deserted apartments that supposedly do not even exist." M snipped.

"Do you not trust your own operatives?" Mycroft was just contradicting himself now.

"Of course not. And you don't either, you've said it yourself."

There was silence between the both of them as they typed away on their phones, trying to quickly get a hold on the situation unfolding around them.

"Nothing." Mycroft said after a good ten minutes.

"Nothing from me either." M said, a sliver of disappointment and fear creeping into her voice. It was then that she looked at him. There was something vaguely searching about her face. My croft quickly looked away. He dared not think.

"May I suggest we continue this little chat later, the ambassador from Spain will be here in about ten minutes." Mycroft lied. He was tired of sitting here worrying about the same people for more than twenty minutes at a time. Mycroft had a lot of people to worry about.

"Sounds pleasant. I have a doctor's appointment. I'll text if anything happens." She got up to leave and primly left without a word.

As soon as the door shut, Mycroft sank back in his chair. He didn't know the duration of time that this case was going to last, but he already felt as though it had been an eternity.  
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"Darling, they're out." Moriarty sat in the chair he knew Sherlock would be most mad about him using. One visit to 221B and Moriarty had a good feel for all the particulars about life here.

"That was fast." Said Silva's voice from the next room over.

"Too fast." He muttered to himself. "I think we should move ahead." He said louder.

"Wait a moment, no need to rush. How did they do it?"

"Pictures indicate an explosion. Very small, definitely not from the outside, probably something that could fit in a pocket, undoubtedly on that damnable trench coat." Moriarty looked at the picture once again, every detail memorized, every pixel perfectly planned out in his head even before the explosion.

"Sebastian sent this?" Silva peered over his shoulder.

"Mh-hmm. He's still keeping an eye on them, but nothing else."

"Well. Ahead of schedule. I say we do some research in the Holmes library. It looks fascinating."

Moriarty rose from the chair and followed Silva to the back of the apartment, where shelves upon shelves of books rose up the walls, and knee high stacks crowded anywhere else. There were books in the living room of the apartment, but they were mostly the ones deemed acceptable enough for such a public place. Moriarty knew on principal that Ms. Hudson must've done this , because Sherlock didn't know and John didn't care. They were an interesting dynamic.

"He keeps all this hidden." Silva sighed, something like dismay creeping into his voice. "It's disappointing."

"What are we looking for?" Moriarty already knew, but he wanted to ask anyway. Conversation with the only person that he knew was on his level was fascinating, even when the mundane was involved. Well, Sherlock was on his level, but they didn't do a whole lot of talking. Not like Raoul anyway.

"Any notes you find on the operations of a certain James Bond. Not the novel things, but anything else. There's a lot I have yet to uncover."  
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John had stopped exclaiming over Sherlock's brilliance verbally a long time ago. But that didn't stop him from constantly being amazed. But now it was like they had all been lost at sea. Sherlock's deducing and ideas kept hitting dead ends. They found themselves in an alleyway, middle of the night, a little bruised but nothing too bad, especially when compared to some of the previous adventures John had been on.

"I've contacted M, she knows we're out, but I can't contact her any further it's too risky. Moriarty and Silva probably already know we're out anyway. We're on our own." Q had a mobile in his hand, but there was nothing he could do. There were so many possibilities, so many theories, so many variables, and each one just seemed more and more improbable.

"Well there's only one thing we can do." James was sulking, much to the chagrin of everyone.

"And what would that be?" Sherlock was already aggravated enough as it is. These two trying to one-up each was definitely not going to end well. John and Q stepped back reflexively.

"We have to storm your flat."

There was silence for a moment. John braced himself for what he was sure to be a long rant to do with stupidity and the government coming on, with some jabs at Mycroft thrown in for good measure.

"He's right."

"Wait, what?" John felt as though some great barrier had been broken at that moment. Where these two going to cooperate?

"That's the only way to do it. They'll never expect it. Well, they'll be less prepared anyway. They're not expecting us to fight back, because it's so obvious that they think themselves superior but that's their one fault." It was getting hard to follow Sherlock's train of thought, but they were getting the general idea. He didn't seem to really remember that there were three other men standing right there.

"I assume you have some sort of weapon on you at the moment." Sherlock turned around to James.

"Brilliant." He smirked. But Sherlock didn't say anything. John vaguely wondered if the explosion in the small flat had taken them to an alternate universe.

"Any ideas, little brother?" Sherlock moved on quickly, probably to avoid too much conflict.

"20 so far."

"Oh my God, it's hereditary." John dead panned.  
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An eerie silence had settled over Baker Street. It could never be completely quiet, but this was as close as it would ever come to getting.

Q was sitting next door to 221, the only one sitting at Speedy's, laptop up and running, monitoring the movements of not only John, Sherlock, and James, but also all persons labelled as vaguely suspicious around Baker Street. It was all very shadowy, but there appeared to be people who were associated with either of the two men currently occupying Baker Street in the surrounding buildings.

Q had been to Baker Street once or twice. Once because he had to visit Sherlock and again because he left his laptop. That was a lie. Mycroft wanted floor plan and whatnot to 221B once Sherlock had moved in. Watson was out doing something or other, and Q was right in assuming that Sherlock wouldn't talk about it.

M had gotten into contact to say once to report that both she and Mycroft had gotten his text with the picture of the exploded flat room. Q had known his brother to be capable of such actions, but he had never known him to actually employ them past his teenage years. Whatever fits the bill, he thought.

Sherlock's circle on the map began to pace back and forth. Sherlock was two buildings over on the opposite side of the street with a telescope. He had commented on the ridiculousness of the item, but only once. Q could barely believe how smoothly this whole operation was going.

But there were still pieces that weren't fitting together properly. If Moriarty and Silva were aiming to assassinate M, why had they taken over 221B? It's not exactly a walk in the park to try to off the head of MI6, but both of those two brilliant and evil minds together could surely come up with a quicker attempt than what they were trying to pull now. There was a lot left to figure out, all of which would hopefully be revealed within the coming hours. Q checked the clock. T minus five minutes.

And there was one very small question that had plagued Q even before Sherlock and John were called in. Mycroft said the tip that Moriarty and Silva were working together was anonymous. But who on Earth could know that? Certainly not the usual anonymous callers who phoned into police stations and whatnot. If Q knew anything, it's that he knew who the caller was and just wouldn't tell Sherlock. So it was someone that was probably sensitive to Sherlock Holmes. Which narrowed down the list significantly to Lestrade, Anderson, Donovan, Molly, Ms. Hudson, or Mum. Four of those were rather unlikely...

A beeping snapped Q out of his thoughts. The countdown clock had timed off. Show time.

Q didn't even have to remind the operatives on screen. John, placed directly opposite 007, started forward, and a split second later, so did Bond.

Sherlock wasn't set to move for another five minutes, then Q would come in and clean up any damage.

A shot of adrenaline coursed through him, despite the exhaustion that had followed close behind him all day. This was a significantly smaller mission than a lot of the ones Q had been employed to work on before, but it was also extremely different. It was closely related to those around him, and that made it even scarier.

As much as Sherlock and Mycroft and Q avoided each other and argued, it was undeniable they all cared about the others. They just tried to find some way to show that involved not being around each other at all in any way possible. Mycroft and Sherlock were ruled by their pride, while Q tried his best to be humble about everything. Way back in his childhood, he'd always wished his family would act more like a family. Sometimes he still wished for that, but it was far too late now.

That's not to say he didn't enjoy the massive intelligence that was so often looked upon as a curse. But the lack of social skills that ran in the family affected him as well, but that was okay. Most of his work allowed him to do everything behind a computer, which couldn't have been better for him. If it was an actual conversation that needed doing, then Q wasn't the one to call. If you needed anything done from screen to screen, there was nobody better.

Five minutes were up, Sherlock had left his perch.

10

9

Q check his mobile for a message

8

Sherlock was in 221B.

7

6

5

4

3

Q put away his things.

2

There was the sound of cracking glass next door.

1.  
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The door feel with a heavy thump. There, framed perfectly in the doorway, and probably not even on purpose, stood 007. Moriarty, sitting by himself in the living room of 221B, picking through some of the reading he'd found in Sherlock's back library. Nothing so far on the agent at their door, although apparently he'd had quite the illustirous career.

But he wasn't even supposed to be here. Not yet anyway. Moriarty and Silva had estimated at the start that it would take them at least another day to figure out the only solution. Sherlock, however violent he may be, was always opossed to vioent. Pairing him up with a man like James Bond they thought might spell certain diaster. Apparently, some sort of miracle happened.

"The apocalypse must be on it's way." Moriarty shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. They were dreadfully unprepared for this. Worse yet, Moran had not gotten wind of this, which was nearly impossible.

"Nope. Just me." Which was of course a lie. But maybe not. You could never tell with these types.

"What do you want?" James knew that this guy had probably had guns pointed towards his head before, but he couldn't believe the total ease he showed. His eyes didn't for a moment stray from the gun, but there was no indication that he was the slightlest bit nervous. Nothing. It was unnerving. But that was the point.

"Just want to talk." If he was going to act casual, so was James.

"Really?"

"James, dear, is that you?"

"Oh God, here comes the homoerotic subtext." James said it before he could stop himself.

"Subtext? I'm insulted." Silva sauntered out into the living room, grinning wickedly.

James counted down the seconds in his head. John should be going up the back entrance sometime soon.

"Keep it clean, Raoul." Moriarty looked back towards him. That was enough time to whip out the pepper spray. As Moriarty turned around he was blasted full on in the face. He didn't make a noise, but his hands flew to his eyes.

At that moment, John Watson burst through the door, and had Silva in a headlock.  
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For a moment, there was only stunned silence. John's grip never loosened nor did his aim waver. Moriarty was still sprawled on the floor.

"Well?" Bond shrugged, seeming almost casual while still holding Moriarty at gunpoint.

"You crazy kids have actually got me speechless." Silva choked out, mocking tone still in place.

"Where's your gunman?" John asked.

"You mean his?" Silva gasped.

"You know what I mean." John remained calm.

"I don't know, it's not usually my job to keep 24/7 tabs on him." Moriarty's voice was strained, but he had managed to slump against a wall.

"I call bullshit." James said.

"He's three blocks away. On a date actually." A wicked grin came across Moriarty's face. Bond's grip on the trigger and John's grip on Silva both tightened reflexively. Silva was slowly losing air, surely close to passing out by this point.

"With whom?" John asked sharply.

"Your quartermaster."  
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Q sat quietly watching the dots move on his laptop. It was like a dance, everyone in their respective places at just the right time.

Everything was going perfectly until a voice cracked over the Q's earpiece. "Q, you need to get out of there, Moriarty's gunman is coming for you.

"Oh, shit." Q's eyes glanced to the screen to see the dots in 221 hadn't budged much. But there was no tracker on Moran, who had thus far been quite elusive. His heart was pounding against his ribs.

He quickly stowed his things away, took a last sip of tea, and tried to calmly rush out the door. He wasn't very successful in this. The few patrons took obvious notice of his leaving. That wasn't good. If Moran happened to pop in and ask questions, he was dead meat.

Q hadn't actually been threatened since ten years previously, in his younger teenage years. Mycroft, still quite a bit older, and Sherlock, "travelling", or really just picking up the secret technique of some sort of bizarre Brazillion hand-to-hand combat style, was out of the picture for a little while. Mycroft was working with MI6 on a case involving a rogue cannibal from America trying to keep a low profile in England while also doing business on the black market selling various organs marinated in various extremely fancy sauces. Around this time, the technology department in terms of hacking at MI6 was absolutely worthless. Taking note of his little brother's skills, Mycroft unofficially stuck Q on the case. All accusations of nepotism and legality were dropped when It took only an hour to find an accomplice to this cannibal character. That accomplice was Sebastian Moran. Unluckily, Moran had gotten away after catching on that MI6 had caught up with him, and the times. He'd literally disappeared after that, but not before a rather dramatic chase that ended in a deployed special forces team, three broken windows, and a concussion that left Q in the hospital for a day or two. With a small jolt, Q realized that he was headed down the same route as all those years ago.

He was trying to get with the pace of late evening London, not too fast, so as to look like he was running, but not too slow, so as to stick out like a sore thumb. It looked like rain, but so far there was none, so there was no excuse for putting his hood up for a little protection. It had been a good ten years since Moran had last seen him, reportedly, but who knew if that was true?

Desperate to get off the beaten path, Q looked for some way off the track that had last landed him in trouble. There was an alley coming up, he'd duck in there for a moment. The crowd was thinning around him and he'd need to wait at least thirty seconds before he could change direction.

Being a quartermaster, you weren't trained for these situations more than once every five years. Which was why it may have seemed like a good idea to run into a dark alley.

It wasn't.

Immediately, Q knew there was something wrong. Probably because he was instantly forced to his knees having his hands tied behind his back. His shoulder bag containing his laptop was also taken.

"That was a rookie move, Q." Moran's smoky voice hadn't changed much. Scottish lilt, cigarette tinged, and a little more obviously menacing than Moriarty. Moran was the hot temper to Moriarty's cool and calm demeanor.

"Well you didn't exactly make it hard." Years of living with Sherlock had given Q a quip for everything. If you kept them talking long enough, Sherlock had always said, you could always pull something out of your sleeve.

"Did I need too? It was too good to resist. Your tattling skill are impressive as ever, I see. It's amazing they even let you back into MI6 after your unofficial start."

"Well, you know how the government is. Anything necessary for queen and country."

"It's a shame too. Your first target was nearly out of the country when they got to him. But a little string pulling over at Scotland Yard goes a long way."

"You mean when your friend paid off the security guards?" Q kept his voice deadpan.

"It counts."

"How many cigarettes do you smoke a day?" Q asked.

"Too many. Jim keeps trying to persuade me to stop, but I told him not until he lets me move in." Q could hear the tinny sound of a lighter clicking.

"You might as well smoke before it rains. I have a funny feeling we're going to be here for a while."

"Not gonna say no to that." What scared Q was that it sounded threatening.

There was the flick of the lighter, the whoosh of burning paper, and Moran stepped closer to Q, foot against his back.

Flick.

Q's shoulder burned. Moran was using him as an ashtray. He gritted his teeth against the wave of pain. Sherlock had often enthused about the nervous system, how humans registered pain, and how it was one of the few things we couldn't control.

Flick.

Flick.

He waited. He needed the right time. He had to have him utterly convinced that he wasn't going anywhere.

Flick.

Moran was about to light another when his legs were swept out from underneath him. Before he could even make another move, he was lying on the ground, face up, and the last thing he saw was Q's foot coming down.

Q quickly pulled the roll of duct tape out of his shoulder bag and wrapped up Moran's hands and his feet for good measure. Moran would have a concussion AND a broken nose to deal with later. And if he came anywhere near any hospital in the world, Q would know.

"Is he out?" John's voice, quiet and tense, came over the earpiece.

"I do think so." Q poked Moran gently.

Sherlock wasn't the only one with hand to hand combat skills.  
Something was wrong though. It was too easy. Moran could easily have rolled away, Q had thought he might even as he was bringing his foot down. Someone as skilled as Moran would have known how to get away. It was becoming more and more clear the more he thought about it: Moran had let him go. 

But for now, there were more pressing things to worry about, but Q couldn't shake the creeping fear that this was definitely far from over.  
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Even as the relief set in that Q was out of Moran's way, Sherlock knew it wasn't over. Moran was one of the most dangerous working criminals in the world. There was no way this was over. Stealing a glance at Moriarty, Sherlock quickly deduced he knew too. So he must have been in on this American cannibal business. The thought was more than a little frightening.

"One more time: Why were you in our apartment?" John jerked Moriarty's arm a little further, and though it was obviously pretty painful, he still kept a straight face.

"Because Raoul was bored, I was bored, you were out, Mycroft was annoying. I mean really, I'm surprised Sherlock or James over there haven't gotten it yet." Moriarty never really seemed to stop grinning, and the effect, or lack thereof, it had on the three opposing men did nothing to stop him from doing so. Even with eyes swollen from pepper spray, that Cheshire cat characteristic never left.

And with a snap of a joint, Moriarty had John on the floor, the hostage situation reversed. "Any of you make any sort of move and Dr. Watson takes the fall." Moriarty shot Sherlock a sly look, a sort of "have you got it yet?" glance.

But it was James who spoke first. "This has to do with Mycroft doesn't it?" He said it slowly, nothing sudden, no inflection in his voice hinting a move.

"Oh, he speaks! Very good." Raoul, still on the floor, seemed to be enjoying himself, which was exactly the problem.

"Okay, that gets us somewhere. Is this about the library?" Sherlock seemed to be seeing something in front of him that was not in fact actually there. It was like the leads were forming in front of his very eyes. "Mrs. Hudson has been rather nagging about getting it cleaned out. Says there's a bit too much back there, that perhaps I should narrow down the biographies." The words were gaining momentum, as they usually did in situations like this, not that Sherlock had been in one so complex.

"And?" Moriarty knew he had the rest of it.

"This is about him." Sherlock nodded in James' direction, who didn't have time to react before the words resumed. "I've really get to check back there more often. Mycroft is hiding something of importance back there. He's paid off Mrs. Hudson to have me find it for him, keep it on the down low. He would, he's got too many other pies to deal with, both literally and figuratively, also he's hidden it so well that not even he remembers or perhaps it really is all that important. Either way it's material, not just a flash drive or something that had to be copied, definitely originals, hidden in the only library so large that nobody could find it that's also private enough to nobody would go looking. And it's something big, something akin to a chink in the armor." Sherlock paused for a moment. "I'm going to have to have a talk with Mycroft about this."

"I ought to keep you." Raoul coughed from the floor.

"Hands off, Raoul." Moriarty was statue still, John clearly alarmed but keeping calm, what with the gun steadily near his temple.

"Come in." Sherlock said to nobody in particular.

The door cracked a bit, revealing a slightly battered Q, hands in the air, laptop nowhere in sight, although out of the hands of Moran assuredly. In truth, it was left with Mrs. Hudson downstairs, who had fussed over Q's cuts and bruises briefly before remembering that there was a situation upstairs.

"Isn't a little bit superfluous to have two of you?" Raoul said. James' grip tightened on the gun.

"Depends on how you look at it." Q said simply. Sherlock gave a grin, a real one, but kept focused on Moriarty's aim. The only interruption to the tense silence was the usual London cacohpany, and the night, lightened by skyscrapers and signs that seemed to stretch on forever, seemed to be much darker in 221B.

"Oh, you didn't." Sherlock tried to sound surly, but there was a note of relief, a thank you that wouldn't be given until later, or maybe never. It was hard telling with Sherlock.

A second later, the backdoor was smashed down.A veritable SWAT team filled the apartment, oddly silent against the pounding of feet. Moriatry managed a few shots shattering a window. Silva didn't make a move.

And with that, Moriarty and Silva were taken into custody. Which of course meant that they'd be back out on the streets within the month, but for now, it meant that the general public was safe.

And just to make things even more interesting, after the two were taken out of the apartment building, Lestrade came up the stairs, looking a bit like a concerned father checking in with his kids.

"Is Scotland Yard involved already?" James asked.

"Wait, how do you know Lestrade?" John had stood up and was clearly still shaken from being held hostage (again) but was getting over it quickly. It was an occupational hazard at this point.

"Not every scrape I get myself into is a national emergency." James smiled wryly.

"I believe it." Q went into the kitchen to put the kettle on. Sherlock had gone back to the closet-like room that held a large percentage of his library, and the only good cure for being held hostage was a cup of tea.

"Watson and I were in the military together. Got put together on this thing Mycroft had going on, it's all a bit of a mess." James said, taking a chair.

"Yeah, Mycroft always tries to put his brothers on his cases. Seems to like to torture them." Lestrade seemed to take comfort in the fact that everyone involved was okay, and his serious demeanor was melting quickly.

"Not all of them are torture, Inspector." Sherlock returned from the library with a small stack of new looking papers and a an actual file stamped with the word "CLASSIFIED" in big red letters. It could not have been more obvious, but somehow, Moriarty and Silva had never found it.

"And this one?" Lestrade asked hesitantly.

"Absolutely aggravating." Sherlock rolled his eyes and tossed the folder on the kitchen table without much of a second glance.

"What, are you not going to read it?" James asked slyly, seemingly disappointed at the detective's lack of curiosity.

"Oh it's all the same after a while, classified this and that. I stay out of it, keep my perception clear." Sherlock was already on his phone, probably texting Mycroft to come get the very thing that had just caused them so much anguish.

"No need to text me, brother."Everyone in the room turned to see Mycroft coolly enter the apartment, umbrella in hand and the day's paper under his arm.

"Detective Inspector." He nodded in Lestrade's direction, both a hello and a goodbye. Lestrade took his cue and left.

"It's so secret you had to shoo away the police?" Q was sitting at the cluttered table, fingers tapping nervously, cup of tea already half empty. It was the first time all three Holmes brothers had been in the same room since... a few Christmas-es ago. If this was going to be anything like that particular incident, it was probably better to leave now.

"My apologies for the inconvenience, Sherlock." Mycroft said somewhat awkwardly, as if realizing that he really had just placed files for hiding in Sherlock's library that almost got not only his two brothers, but a war veteran and Agent 007, killed. There seemed to be a bit of guilt seeping into his cold face, but it evaporated quickly.

"That's it?" John asked, a note of anger coming into his voice. "Sorry? What possessed you to even start to think this thing was even a good idea. What the hell, Mycroft?" John was standing up now.

"The files weren't placed here to remain hidden, it was a drop-off point." Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Did you really not get that far, brother?"

"I was preoccupied making sure that my apartment didn't become a crime scene." Sherlock answered, deadpan and seething.

"I've always known you were an asshole." James said, poking through the fridge, and finding a beer left over from Ms. Hudson's last bridge club meeting.

There was an awkward silence. Everyone turned to stare. James merely shrugged, popped the top and sat down.

"The point is," Q started, playing the role of peacemaker as always, "this was a bad idea, Mycroft. Take your stuff, and don't do it again." Q might not be in the deduction business professionally, but he had picked some things up over the years, and his mind was elsewhere at this exact moment.

"I truly am sorry." Mycroft didn't make eye contact, and his umbrella twirled idly. "This little thing was not supposed to turn into a hostage situation. Now if you don't mind, I have some clean-up to do." HE started towards the door, but stopped when he saw the window shattered by Moriarty's last gasp attempt at getting out of custody. "I'll take care of this." And then he walked away.

Everyone sat in silence for a moment.

"Excuse me a moment." Q said abruptly, and practically ran after Mycroft, catching him just as he was about to leave the building.

"I have to ask you something." He said, a little out of breath. "Did you find Moran? Is he gone?"

Mycroft hesitated, a bad sign already.

"We have people after him. But he's not in custody as of yet." he answered gently, like telling someone their dog had died or their grandma was in the hospital.

"He's going to come after me. You know." Q slumped against the wall.

"I'm giving you every protection I can afford." Mycroft was getting impatient, umbrella a steady tap on the floor.

"Well it's not going too well as of now."

"I know. There have been mistakes, but I can promise, you'll be safe." Mycroft remained distant, but if he had been any sort of normal person, and if the Holmses had been any sort of normal family, there would have been a hug thrown in there. Maybe a handshake. But they were the Holmses, and there was nothing of that sort in this family.

"Well, I'd best let you get going." Q had one foot on the bottom stair.

"I promise." Mycroft said steadily.

"I know."

"I can't imagine being related to Mycroft." James said, taking a long sip. They were all still sitting in the kitchen, staring around blankly, thinking about where this was going.

"It's just as bad as you'd expect." Sherlock was statue still, hands clasped, deep in thought.

"So, you got shot." James turned to John, wry wit back in place.

"Yep. Not as fun as it sounds." John took a sip of tea.

"Well, maybe we'll get paired up again soon. Seems Mycroft likes to put you all through the ringer." James stood up, smoothed the suit that seemed to permanently be in place. Always classy, only occasionally trashy.

"This isn't over." Sherlock said again, staring straight ahead at the broken window.

"Figures." James rolled his eyes and checked his watch. "Better be off. I'm sure there's some crisis of national importance that needs tending to.

"It's been a pleasure." John shook his hand.

"Same." Sherlock gave a small smile, but didn't move from the kitchen.

"Take care." John said, and with that, James left.

He ran into Q on the stairs, Mycroft having already left.

"Are you going to be alright?" He asked, standing above him on the stairs.

"Yeah. I will be. Eventually. It's been a long day."

"Get some rest." James waltzed past him, and out the door into the chilly night. It was beginning to rain again.

While walking along, James happened to pass Mycroft, to whom he could be heard saying, "I still think you're an asshole."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson." Q said gratefully, picking up his things that she'd kept for him.

"Dear, you should take it easy, you've had a long day. It's the least I could do." She apparently had been aware about the day's events, but to what extent, Q was not sure.

"I will, I've just go to say good-bye to Sherlock and John." He said, shouldering his laptop bag.

Mrs. Hudson insisted on a hug, which Q returned.

As he climbed the steps to 221B, he realized that he was probably going to be seeing a lot more of his brothers. Q wasn't sure if this was a good thing yet. In some small part of his heart, he'd always wanted them to at least be civil towards each other, but he wasn't sure how this was going to work. But they'd have to find a way.

"Hello again." Q said, upon returning to the apartment.

"Did Mycroft leave?" Sherlock asked.

"Yeah, he's gone."

"Good. Now we can all breathe easy. Dinner anyone?" Sherlock seemed to decompress a bit. And if any sort of food was mentioned, it definitely meant he was off a case.

"Are you up for it?" John looked in Q's direction. He gave a small nod. Out of all of them, Q had actually had it the worst, what with Moran nearly killing him. Surely he must be pretty shaken, but apparently not. BEsides, eating was a good way to fend off shock.

"That settles it then. First family dinner since that Christmas." Sherlock grabbed his coat.

"Which we're not going to talk about." Q offered up a small grin, but it was insistent.

They settled upon the Chinese place that John and Sherlock frequented. The soft lights and idle chatter of those around them felt safe after a day on the run. It was odd to think that this mess had started this morning. It seemed an eternity had passed.

"Are you going to be okay tonight?" John refused to believe that Q could just walk away from this, but so far he seemed fine.

"Yeah, I'm sure. Mycroft apparently has people keeping an eye out, which I can live with for now." He said, taking a sip of tea.

"Oh, he would." Sherlock quipped.

"If you need anything, just call." John decided to let it go for now. Q looked to Sherlock, who gave an almost imperceptible nod. That was about as close to coming outright and saying "You're my brother and I care about you." as Sherlock was likely to get, and Q was also willing to take that.

And like everything about that day, it was not yet over. Battles would be fought, arguments had, and they would all find themselves together again, but not for a while. Events had been set in motion, but for now, they would just have to wait. And that was not a bad thing. The world can only take such a cosmic event like all three Holmes brothers in the same room one or twice a year.

-James Bond, Q, Sherlock Holmes, and John Watson will return-  
(and M and Myrcroft too, let's be real)  
(Also, probably Molly)  
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End file.
